Page 7 of Taming the Grumpy Hockey Player

“We’ll see,” I say, standing. Lewis circles my legs, his leash tangling slightly before Lucy steps in to untangle it.

“Just give it a chance, Logan,” she says, her tone softer than I expect. “It could turn out better than you think.”

“Before you head out, there are a few things you need to know about Lewis,” Lucy says, her clipboard still in hand. Her tone shifts to something between professional and patient, like she’s about to give a lecture.

I fold my arms, leaning against the fence as she starts rattling off information. “He eats twice a day—morning and evening—and he’s on a specific brand of food. I’ve already sent the details to your email.”

“Of course you have,” I mutter, earning a quick glare from her.

“Potty breaks are frequent for now because we’re still reinforcing his training,” she continues. “And he’ll need walks to burn off all that energy. He loves fetch, so that’s a good way to tire him out.”

Lewis sits at her feet, wagging his tail as if he’s proud of the detailed report she’s giving. I glance at him, then back at her. “Anything else? Should I be writing this down?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” she replies, her tone sweet but with an edge. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and flips to another page on her clipboard.

She pauses, her brow furrowing. “Wait… his bed. I think I forgot it at the shelter.”

Her face flushes, and she looks genuinely distressed, biting her bottom lip. It’s… cute. Attractive, cute. Not that I’d ever admit that. I push the thought aside because it’s Lucy—she’s not that kind of material in my mind. “I’m so sorry. I wanted this to go smoothly, and I…”

“It’s fine,” I cut in, surprising both of us. “We’ll figure it out.”

“But—” she starts.

“Really, it’s not a big deal,” I say, keeping my tone calm. “I’m sure Lewis can survive one night without a fancy dog bed.”

She hesitates, clearly unconvinced, and I can see the concern etched across her face. It’s a rare crack in her usual confidentexterior, and something about it catches me off guard. Lucy Hart, the relentless optimist, genuinely worried about making my life harder? That’s new.

“I can swing by the shelter tomorrow and grab it,” I add, bending down to ruffle Lewis’s ears. “He doesn’t seem too bothered about it.”

Lewis responds by wagging his tail so hard his entire body wiggles, clearly agreeing with my assessment. Lucy still looks unsure, but she nods slowly.

“I just wanted everything to go smoothly,” she says quietly, more to herself than to me. “You didn’t ask for this campaign, and I didn’t want to make it harder.”

“Lucy,” I say, standing to meet her gaze. “It’s fine. Really. If anything, it gives us something to hassle the sponsors about—‘dog bed emergencies’ might make for good PR.”

Her lips twitch, and for a second, I think she might actually laugh. “I don’t think ‘emergency dog bed delivery’ is the type of PR we’re aiming for.”

“Maybe not,” I say with a shrug. “But Lewis seems pretty adaptable. And so am I, apparently.”

She gives me a long look, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “Thanks, Logan.”

The words are simple, but they land heavier than I expect. I give her a nod, feeling the corners of my mouth tug upward just slightly. Before the moment can stretch too long, Lewis barks, pulling our attention back to him. He tugs on his leash, his tail wagging furiously as if to remind us that he’s still here and ready for whatever adventure comes next.

Later that evening, as I settle onto my couch with a sigh, Lewis sprawled out on the floor beside me, my mind drifts back to the park. The way Lucy had looked genuinely uncomfortable, almost embarrassed, when she realized she’d forgotten the meds and bed—it was disarming. I’ve only ever seen her so put-together, always ready with a smile or a snappy comeback. Seeing her falter, even for a moment, was…humanizing.

And the way she’d been so concerned about making things difficult for me—it didn’t feel like an act. It felt real. Honest.

I glance down at Lewis, who’s now snoring softly, one paw twitching like he’s dreaming. “Looks like it’s you and me, buddy,” I mutter, scratching behind his ears. “Think she’s always this worried about everyone, or are we special?”

Lewis doesn’t answer, obviously, but his tail gives a faint wag in his sleep, like he’s agreeing with me.

Leaning back, I let out a long breath. The day didn’t go how I expected, but it wasn’t all bad. Lewis settled in better than I thought he would, and working with Lucy—though not without its challenges—didn’t feel as impossible as it had this morning.

As my eyes drift toward the window, the faint glow of the town’s streetlights spilling into the room, I realize something strange: I’m not dreading tomorrow. Sure, I’m still skeptical about this whole campaign, but there’s a part of me—however small—that’s curious to see where it goes. And that’s a feeling I haven’t had in a long time.

A few days later, I find myself sprawled on my couch, the apartment silent except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Lewis, who had started the week sleeping near the door, has somehow managed to sneak onto the couch beside me, his head resting against my thigh.

I should push him off. I really should. Instead, my hand moves absently to scratch behind his ears as I scroll through my phone. He lets out a contented sigh, and I roll my eyes.

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